


“In the Background”

by une_ange1



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, POV Third Person, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:52:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/une_ange1/pseuds/une_ange1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now undead, Andy looks back at his life and the one person who made it worth living. “He relinquished his soul, but she has his heart.”</p><p>Timeframe: S1 (placed around “Necromancer” but before they discover him)</p><p>Pairings: Andy Brooks/ Abbie Mills, allusions to Ichabbie</p>
            </blockquote>





	“In the Background”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve always had a lot of Andy feelings, but never wrote a fic about him. Then jessicaisgray’s [giftset](http://jessicaisgray.tumblr.com/post/89206625695/i-want-to-protect-you-im-gonna-protect-you) crossed my dash some months back and I couldn’t get it out of my head. Better late than never, right? 
> 
> Title inspired by Third Eye Blind’s “The Background.” I do not own Sleepy Hollow nor its characters. If I did, I’d do better by them.

Andy Brooks was never a man to take chances or throw caution to the wind. He abided by the rules and did as he was told. Even now when he is no longer governed by the edicts of the living, he still finds himself answering to a higher-up, following the chain of command. It is all he’s ever known.

As he heads towards the precinct tonight, he passes a couple dressed in light jackets. (His hoodie and cap serve him well in times like these, allowing him to walk among _them_ without drawing attention. Though he no longer feels the autumn chill, he even pretends to shiver at the right intervals.) It makes no difference. They don’t smile or nod in his direction or even make eye contact — the little things afforded to him when dressed in the old uniform. They look through him, past him. 

To them, he’s just another vagrant on the streets; the smell of decay that wafts around him mistaken for poor hygiene. He doesn’t care to correct them. He takes to the tunnels below, where it can be easily overlooked, where he can be near **her**. 

* * *

**RECOLLECTIONS** : He doesn’t remember a time in which his thoughts were not filled with her. Always present, commanding.

In one memory, they are freshmen in AP Lit—seated side by side—exploring the classics: _Beowulf, Frankenstein_. Ms. Hunt is patiently waiting for an answer from the class. No one bothers to raise their hand, too engrossed in their side conversations with one another to care. He grumbles and resigns himself to answer when her hand suddenly goes up. 

“Abbie?” calls Ms. Hunt. 

“The story’s always the same: heroes and monsters. The author wants to remind you that under the right circumstances, one can become the other or has _been_ the other. In the scheme of good and evil, there’s fluidity.” 

”Very good observation, Abbie,” beams Ms. Hunt, moving on to the next chapter. 

“Can’t sit here all day, right?” Abbie jokes turning to him, a smile on her lips, and Andy can’t help but smile back. 

* * *

He catalogs every moment that follows in their friendship: how she says his name, laughs at his jokes, playfully teases him when she catches him working ahead of the class. She gives him a nickname: “Brook-worm.”

They’ll move in different circles in the coming years. Junior year is unkind to her — the events of ‘The Woods’ make normalcy a thing of the past. He always saves her a seat, catches her up when she walks in late (the faint smell of beer on her lips), covering for her when she skips class altogether by senior year. His parents politely tell him to stay away. 

He doesn’t know how to help, but he can’t leave. It has nothing to do with pity or some sort of social obligation. It’s her. Abbie Mills with her tenacity, her seemingly endless array of facial expressions, her dark brown eyes deep enough to drown in... Loving Abbie Mills is his first act of defiance. 

He wonders if she knows. He’d never dare to say it out loud. He wrestles with the decision at night only to talk himself out of it in the morning. _It’s not the right time_ , he tells himself. (It will never be the right time.) 

When they exchange yearbooks at the end of the year, he expects the usual platitudes others have wished him: “Have a good summer” or “Keep in touch.” But she holds the book a moment longer. He watches raptly as her brows furrow in thought before putting pen to paper. 

Then, it is done, and he feels the weight of the yearbook being placed back in his hands. He doesn’t read it until she walks away: 

_“Brooks,_  
Don’t gel —  
Change.” 

He analyzes the flow-y script for days on end. She remembered the copy of _Metamorphosis_ he’s carried around since AP Lit. It was required for an assignment, but he continued to check it out from the school library long after the report was turned in that eventually the librarian finally gave it to him, simply happy someone took an interest. 

The story of a man turned monster overnight, who adhered to the rules and still lost everything important to him. It imprints upon him—the cautionary tale—and so when the Faustian deal is offered to him by Moloch years later, he doesn’t hesitate. _We’re all damned anyway._

* * *

He relinquished his soul, but she has his heart. He wonders if she mourns him now, if she misses him as he misses her. In his stark world of gray, she is technicolor. He sees the irony of pledging his love to a woman long destined to another, a man too preoccupied with the love he’s lost to see the one awaiting him. He envies the man for his spot by her side (and eventually, in her heart— a place he has coveted for so long).

Andy Brooks was never a man to take chances or throw caution to the wind. But he’s not a man anymore. 

His skin, rough and cracked, hangs loosely around his neck, an ill-fitting costume he can’t yet retire. A gust of wind brings him back to the present, hears the sound of the solid slate door opening and two pairs of booted feet landing on the ground. Abbie & Crane are in the tunnels. He ducks expertly out of their line of vision, watches them from the background. And like Gregor of _Metamorphosis_ , he waits for release. 


End file.
